


For King and Country

by vannja



Series: For King and Country [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV, Kingsglaive
Genre: Allusions to PTSD, Families of Choice, Gen, Implied/Referenced Sexism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensory Overload, Touch-Starved, Violence, age reversal au, mentions of isolation, touch-shy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-18
Packaged: 2019-01-18 01:23:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vannja/pseuds/vannja
Summary: Noctis has been raised to be King his entire life, and grew into having the responsibility of being the Ruler Lucis needs after taking the crown at a young age. Unfortunately, trying to balance leaving behind his days of adventures with Iris, Prompto, and Ravus, his duty to his people, and the young crown prince, has him wishing more often than not he could just take off and leave it all behind, preferably before he pulls all his hair out.And a young wild refugee who had somehow survived in the world of ruin, and the destruction of his home seems to think that inserting himself into Noct’s life is the perfect way to spice things up.Alternatively: Prompto and Iris make bets and are horrible Influences, Luna always wins (almost) and Noctis wonders if the world of ruin made him lose his marbles before he was ready.The age reversal AU that no one asked for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my lovely wife Jodine16 for being my editor, and putting up with my horrible inability to remember then/than.

“Sir, Niflheim is moving on to the out-lying borders, we have reports that their airships now carry heavy artillery, possibly for air support, as well as troops and supplies for no-man’s land…”  
  
Noct was trying to pay attention, he really was. He knew his responsibility to the Kingdom well, studied hard for his role as Crown Prince of Lucis. His dad was always so pleased when he repeated what he learned about his kingdom, but pressed against his warmth, watching the scenery fly by through the windows of the car, he just wanted a moment with his *dad*, instead of the King of Lucis, before they had to play the host for his ‘public’ birthday party. He had been told that there were even going to be governors from Accordo there, and he planned to be on his best behaviour to help his dad try and make an alliance. He had even studied Accordo’s trade just for this, had questions that he wrote carefully on slips of paper already stuffed in the breast pocket of his suit jacket laid out in the trunk of the car. He noticed the dignitaries always seemed to like it when the young prince was interested in learning about their places and people.  
  
And secretly he *really* wanted to know how the waterways in Altissia worked. He wondered if any of the dignitaries would be able to mail him pictures.  
  
“Can we not talk war, Sir Amicitia.” The king asked, pulling Noctis close. “It’s been awhile since I’ve had time with my son without the Kingdom pushing in on us.” Noctis beamed up at his father with all the adoration an 8 year old could muster.  
  
“Of course, your Majesty.” Sir Amicitia intoned, sitting back.  
  
“What did you do for your birthday, Noctis?”  
  
Noct squirmed a bit, feeling the confines of the seat belt. “I had math, and eco-eco-m-ony lessons.”  
  
“Eco*n*omy.” The king corrected.  
  
“I had eco*n*omy lessons, and math. And me and Iris…uh…Iris and *I*, we played with swords. I like Iris. Will Gladio be fun like Iris?”  
  
Sir Amicitia smiled tightly, “I hope so. He is much too young to play with right now, but when he is older, you two will be able to train together.” Noct felt himself wince. He tried to remember that he had to watch his questions. Madam Amicitia had just lost her life to giving birth to Gladio, and Noct knew from overhearing the conversations between his dad and the King’s Shield that Sir Amicitia wasn’t taking it well.  
  
The king squeezed Noct tighter against his side, probably remembering Noct’s own mother. Noct couldn’t remember her, but he was always told that he looked just like her, and he supposed maybe when he was older he would look more like his dad, because as nice as it was to know he carried something of his mom’s with him wherever he went…well…  
  
He didn’t *know* her.  
  
And he wanted to tell Sir Amicitia that baby Gladio would be okay, because Noct knew first hand that he wouldn’t be able to miss someone he had never really *met*, but Noct knew that was rude, so he kept it to himself. He did give Sir Amicitia a small smile though, and Sir Amicitia smiled back…  
  
Until his eyes widened and he jerked in his seat from something out the windows behind the Royal family. “Majesty—”  
  
Everything happened so fast after that.  
  
Noct couldn’t tell if he screamed, but he probably did. There was a moment when Noct wasn’t sure what was going on only that they had stopped moving violently, and his shoulder and stomach were in agony. When the car started tipping was when Noct realized that the limo was sitting tilted forward on its nose, and that out the sunroof he could see ground not sky, and that it was rushing to meet him.  
  
Noctis was coughing and sobbing after the loud crash as he hung upside down by his seatbelt, smoke, dirt, and glass everywhere. The King and his Shield dropped themselves onto the roof of the car, the King cutting open Noct’s seatbelt and catching him, as Noct tried to keep his pained yell down like he was taught to do to not attract enemies to his position. He didn’t know if that was for *this* situation, where he wasn’t waiting for the Crownsguard to come get him, because his dad and Sir Amicitia were *already* there, but he was scared, and that was the only thing he could remember…  
  
“Take Noctis and go!” The King ordered.  
  
“King Mors…”  
  
“I said go!” and Noct flinched, having never heard his father yell before, clinging to Sir Amicitia as he pulled Noct through a broken side window, as the king smashed through the back window and rolled from under the trunk to face the threat.  
  
And what a threat it was.  
  
Noct had *never* seen a daemon in person before, only even knew they existed from when Hunters would come to petition his father for help from the crown, but the monster was *huge*, arms and blades everywhere—enough to counter the king’s Armiger.  
  
It was fast, too, Noct found out, when it almost seemed to appear behind the King, racing towards them, and Noct could only scream when blood sprayed his face as Sir Amicitia was deftly decapitated.  
  
Noct hit the ground, and the last thing he remembers is blood, the stench of burning flesh, dripping, snarling *teeth* frozen in his vision, and darkness.  
  
When he wakes up, he sees a slew of doctors and councilmen, he screams and cries for his father, but no one seems to be willing to *tell* him anything. Normally, he would be alright with that, knows his father is busy, but he *really* needs his dad, he can’t seem to chase the nightmares away by himself, and in the dark of the hospital at night all he can smell is burnt skin and all he can see behind his eyelids is the spray of Sir Amicitia’s blood, and he screams until he can’t talk, and is eventually sedated.  
  
He isn’t even really sure how long it’s been since the ‘accident’, nor how many times he’s woken up screaming already, when he wakes up to see Iris sitting beside his bed, doing what looks like homework. When she notices that Noct is awake, she slowly puts her things away, before sliding over, and taking his hand. Her eyes and nose are red, like she’s been crying, but her face is otherwise dry, and stoic. All Noct can think of is a spray of blood, and the taste of copper.  
  
Then she tells him what happened.  
  
In the strange floating space that Noct finds himself in, he realizes he’s being given a report, that the only way that Iris can probably hold herself together is to fall back on the military training they’ve both received as children in a time of war.  
  
The daemon that attacked them is called the Marilith, it had pulled itself from the darkness just as the car was driving over top of it, then caught it by the back. The Daemon had picked up the car and flipped it on it’s roof, and the driver had been pulled from the front, only to be eaten. That had bought Sir Amicitia time to attempt to flee with him, and King Mors the time to make an attack on the daemon. Iris stumbled a bit, when she reported her father’s death, and Noct wanted to scream at her to stop. That he didn’t want to *hear* any more, but she continued, and Noct held her gaze, completely frozen and wanting to yell that he was sorry sorryI’msorryI’mSOsorry…  
  
Then Iris informed him that his father had seen the Marilith dig its teeth into Noct’s back when he tried to crawl away, that the King had launched as hard of an attack to protect Noctis, but that he probably had been too focused and didn’t see the sword. Iris stumbled over the technical terms, tunnel vision, hyper focus, and Noct could almost see it. He wondered if he *had* seen it or if his mind was just fabricating the worst. If he had *seen* his father get sliced in half from two swords.  
  
Iris tells him that *he* was the one who killed the Marilith. That the council had no idea what to make of it, and in the initial investigation, the King was thought to have killed the daemon, until it was discovered that Noct was wearing the Ring.  
  
All Noct can remember is blood, the stench of burning flesh, dripping, snarling teeth frozen in his vision, and *darkness*.  
  
Within the next few days, the council decides that Noct has had more than enough time to mourn in the week since the incident. Noct hadn’t even been aware a week had *passed*. He is told the people need to see the Heir crowned, to help them move on from King Mors’ death. Noct wonders if he’s even going to be given an *option* on the matter, but he keeps silent instead. He’s told that his coronation is going to be at the end of the week. Nine days total after he’s turned eight. It’s perfect timing, he’s told, as most of the dignitaries who had shown up to celebrate Noct’s birthday were still there, and that Lucis needed to show a strong face. Noct thinks of the waterways of Altissia.  
  
So at the end of the week, nine days after he’s turned eight, Noct stares forward, tries to pull himself together in front of all these people, but he’s just too damn cold to *care*. And he knows he’s being selfish, knows that there’s now thousands of people riding on him, but he tries not to think about it, because he can hide for a time if he doesn’t think about it.  
  
He couldn’t kneel for the crown, not with the wheelchair, the other thing he’s been avoiding thinking about, but he was small enough he didn’t really see why it mattered, why the council had seemed stuck on that one particular topic. He knew the symbolism, the idea that he was to serve the people of his country and the will of the astrals, and he had to bow to them as they would bow to him once the crown of gold was placed on his head. He intoned the words that had been drilled into him over the last two days, and the crown was lowered, and Noct thought of swords made of silver being lighter than crowns made of gold.  
  
When he faced the crowd of people, mostly high-born Lucians who cheered and made him want to hide. Instead he hid in his head, though he should probably attempt to smile, yet couldn’t bring himself to. He caught Iris standing with all the other high-borns, briefly thought of Gladio and the things he couldn’t miss. Iris stepped out of line, the crowd falling silent, whispers echoing around the room, wondering what she was doing. He heard a councilman off to his side ask if Amicitia was going to try to sway Noct to taking her as Queen consort on the day of his coronation. Iris took the knee before him, and Noct was irrationally mad at her in that moment, when she bowed her head to him, before looking at him dead in the eye.  
  
“If his Majesty would have me, I would stand beside him as the Shield of the 113th King of Lucis. I would stand between him and all that oppose him, and between those who would wish to see the country of Lucis harm.” Noct heard the harsh intake of breath from the councilman at his side, as Iris continued to swear her oath of loyalty, even without Noct’s answer.  
  
It was with a start that Noct remembered Iris was just like him. She had lost the same amount that night, and here she was, all of 13 years old, vowing her life to protect him, and she had her baby brother at home, just barely a year old—Gladio who couldn’t miss what he didn’t remember, but Noct and Iris who would remember for him. She had heard the same pressure from council to marry to find someone to help take the title of her lands, they had *both* heard the comments that when Gladiolus was old enough to receive training, he would swear these same words to become the King’s Shield, without ever *really* knowing the loss that Iris and Noct both had already suffered.  
  
And here Iris was refusing to bend to the will of the council.  
  
Noctis couldn’t afford to bend either.  
  
He tried not to care that he didn’t remember all the words, hoped that he made up for it in front of all these people with his sincerity when he accepted the offer of her life for his own, despite knowing what lay at the end of the title of the ‘Chosen King of Light’. And when he bid her rise, and dubbed her Sir Shield, almost stuttering over the title, only to receive her small private smile and nod to continue. The sputtering of the councilman was worth it.  
  
She kissed the back of his right hand with a final bow of the head, where someday, probably sooner rather than later, he would wear the Ring again. She finally rose, the first lady Shield to the Kings of Lucis, to the roars and cheers of the gathered people. Noct felt the weight lift slightly off his shoulders, the ring pulling from its chain around his neck seemed lighter for the first time since he turned eight, and he squared his shoulders like he had seen his new Shield do so many times when she had been questioned on her training, as the lady of a prominent house, and Noctis faced his people head on.  
  
He could do this.  


* * *

  
He couldn’t do this.  
  
King Noctis barely avoided scrubbing a hand over his face as he failed at directing the council members back on topic. He couldn’t make a decision without *information*, but his council seemed far more curious about when his Queen would return so they could show the people the ‘Unified Front’ that the King and Queen represented.  
  
Noctis wasn’t sure if this was the reason why his hair was almost as much grey as black at only 32 or not.  
  
It was definitely one of the major reasons for his recurring migraines, though.  
  
“We will re-convene in the morning.” Noctis interrupted the sixth (seventh?) person to make a snide comment about the fact that Luna was out gallivanting across the lands while darkness maintained its hold. It was worded as concern for the Queen’s wellbeing against the daemons (ignoring the fact that she was the damned *Oracle*) but Noctis knew that it was mostly thinly veiled sexism. Possibly also a dig at Noctis’ masculinity. Noctis caught the eye of the council member who opened his mouth, repeating himself sharply “We will revisit the topic *in the morning*. If the council can’t seem to stay on the topic of goods and services trade between Insomnia and Lestallum, then I think it’s best if we consider our courses of action, then return to the topic.” Noctis would rather deal with a room full of 3-year olds. “Dismissed.”  
  
Noctis also barely avoided running his fingers through his hair in frustration only through years of practice. The simple horned circlet he wore instead of a crown had been his compromise to the council when he began refusing to wear the crown. He was slowly directing them to let him sell the damned thing for much more needed supplies or melt it down for the sustainable energy district to use in the machines that needed gold tipped parts.  
  
He’d win the argument in another 5 years, he was sure.  
  
The council chambers cleared, his Shield remaining at his left, his assistant at his right. One of the council remained, waiting until the room was clear before letting out a bit of a laugh and approaching the king at the head of the table.  
  
“I leave for two weeks and this is what the council turns into?”  
  
Noctis smiled, though it was more of a grimace. “Welcome back, Prom. I’d ask how your trip was, but…”  
  
Prompto laughed, leaning against the table. “Yeah, it was as much fun as punching a dread-behemoth in the dick.” Ignis sputtered at the blunt phrasing, but Noctis could only laugh. It was  easy to remember why he hated when Prompto actually had to leave Insomnia to do his job. Council meetings were always so much better when he was around. Iris poked Ignis in the cheek, not helping his aghast expression in the slightest, and Prompto flashed a smile. “You’ll get used to me, Ignis, right? Noct’s been waxing poetic about your brain for half a decade. It’s good to see you finally made it into the council.” And then Prompto would open his mouth and make Noctis wonder when he would be able to send his best friend back out of Insomnia again.  
  
“Waxing poetic is a bit extreme.” Noctis responded drolly, hiding a wince as he shifted, a sharp jolt of pain shooting up from his knee.  
  
Prompto sent a wink in Noctis’ direction, who simply rolled his eyes. “I only say that because you wouldn’t know someone waxing poetic if your life depended on it. Woe is the King who can barely string together a sentence about a beautiful woman.” Prompto turned his grin to Iris, softening around the edges. “And I see you’re coming along quite well, Iris. Have you started to pick names out?”  
  
Iris shrugged, rubbing a hand over her slightly swollen belly. “You know me, I’ll throw a name together last minute. Probably be an Iris Jr or something. I still have plenty of time.” Noctis snorted. “I’m surprised there wasn’t as much of a fuss over *when* Gladio will be taking over for me.”  
  
Ignis’ face pinched slightly at the mention. “Are we still sure that is still the correct course of action?” When the King and Shield looked over at him with raised eyebrows the young man hurried to correct himself, faintly turning pink. “Not that there’s anything wrong with Gladiolus, but he seems quite adamant with avoiding all responsibility.”  
  
Prompto chuckled, giving Iris a knowing look. Noctis wanted no part of it. He had been in the middle of that look far too often when they were younger. “He’s a bit of a lug-head, but he kept up out on the front. I would be able to happily never eat cup noodle again, but I can vouch for his swordsmanship.”  
  
Noctis shook his head and stood, hoping to keep Ignis away from the embarrassment that was Iris and Prompto when they were in a betting mood. Noct winced as he leaned briefly against the table from the long hours of keeping one position. “We won’t need to make a decision on anyone taking over as my shield for another 4 months. The food shortages and supply lines are more of a priority.” Noctis said. Ignis moved to the side to allow the king to pass him, collecting his papers, as Iris and Prompto trailed after Noctis.  
  
Iris raised an eyebrow. “I’m not due for at least another 8 months, your Majesty.” she commented, holding the door for her King.  
  
Noctis side-eyed his childhood friend. “You would work until you’re ready to burst, which is why in 4 months you will be off-duty, Dame Amicitica.”  
  
Noctis flinched when Iris smacked him upside the head, Prompto laughing, catching Noctis by the arm as he stumbled slightly. “Thats *Sir* Amicitia to you, your Majesty. I get enough flack for being your shield instead of Queen Lunafreya’s glorified handmaiden without your backtalk.” When Noctis opened his mouth, she pointed a painted finger in his direction. “Pregnant or not, I can still kick your ass.”  
  
“And do her makeup while she’s at it.” Prompto chimed in, hi-fiving Iris behind Noctis’ back.  
  
“Traitors, both of you.”  
  
“Speaking of Luna…” Prompto asked, “I know this is probably the *last* thing you want to hear after *that* debacle of a meeting, but *has* there been any news on the Queen?”  
  
Noctis shook his head. “I haven’t heard from Luna or her Queensguard…”  
  
They paused in front of Noctis’ office as the sound of heavy boots on the floors echoed through the halls, a Crownsguard skidding around the corner and planting his hands on his knees after a slightly sloppy salute. “Your Majesty! General Amicitia!” the man panted, “There’s a group at the east gate!”  
  
Noctis straightened, every ounce the king his people needed to see. “Refugees? How many?”  
  
The guard shifted, straightening back up. “Bout a hundred. They were tailed by a group of daemons, sir. The Commander’s refusing to open the gate because the daemons’re so close.” The man shifted. “I…don’t wanna step on toes, sir.” And he looked more uncomfortable, face pinching from underneath his helmet. “But those are *people* stuck out there.” He must have been fairly new, Noctis couldn’t place his name. He knew Iris would have a word about jumping several chains of command, but for this, Noctis would make sure she would go a bit easy on the soldier.  
  
“Iris, get the guard together to prepare for a mass intake and provide frontline support if needed- as soon as you see Gladio send him me to receive orders. Prompto, with me.” Noctis looked to the Guard sharply. “Get Sir Scientia to prepare the hospitals to take in as many as needed.”  
  
The man nodded, and they split up, orders received.  
  
Prompto glanced at Noctis worriedly as they took off through the halls towards the stairs, bypassing the elevators. “It’s not uncommon for the daemons to follow groups of people…”  
  
Noctis’ brows pinched together.  
  
“This close to the wall?” Noctis shook his head. “The magic Luna set up around the edge of the wall is similar to the Havens. That alone should keeps them far enough for refugees to get in.”  
  
Prompto grinned as Noct detoured towards a balcony that overlooked the skyline, pulling Cerberus from the armiger and slinging it from his shoulder. “I’ll grab a bike and take up position at the top of the gates. Plan?”  
  
Noctis summoned his sword, “Get the refugees enough time to get through to District F. If that means I have to provide the cover myself I will.”  
  
Prompto grinned at him. “You’re just looking to get your ass back in the game,” he accused with an expression that reminded Noctis of a decade prior.  
  
Noctis shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Who knows, there may even be more daemons attracted to the fight. Never know, might have to summon the Old Wall.” Noctis said with a roll of his eyes, turning towards the rooftops of his city.  
  
Prompto snorted. “If they’ll even listen this time.” he mumbled, watching Noctis warp away, before running off to the garages.  
  
Noctis loved the feeling of the wind wiping around him, the burn of muscles from the tense-to-throw, relax-to-warp, tense-to-land was exhilarating and addicting as much as it had been when he, Prompto, and Iris had made the rounds through Lucis lands. Flying over Insomnia’s roof tops wasn’t *quite* the exhilaration of warping through battle, but when he landed on the top of the gate much to the surprised yell of some of his soldiers, he knew it was a good warm up. And he *needed* the warm up. The daemonss were much too close—closer than should have been possible, and getting closer to the large group of people who were screaming at the gate.  
  
Noctis shot a look at the soldier closest to him. “Tell the Commander that he has 10 seconds to get this gate opened. I *will* be having words with him. Process everyone as calmly as possible. When Gladiolus Amicitia arrives send him out as my backup. General Amicitia will be here with added personnel to assist. Defer to her command.”  
  
“M-Majesty? What are you…?”  
  
Noctis didn’t respond, letting his mind sink into the calm of pre-battle focus, taking in everything and giving himself a moment to even his breathing, before warping into the Red Giant’s sword before it could make contact with the barrier or the refugees. The force knocked the Giant off balance, and Noctis only spared a glance at the refugees for a moment, catching sight of a dirty boy with long hair and braids holding a knife at the ready.  
  
Noctis only paid him a moment glance, before letting the rhythm of battle sing through his veins.  


* * *

  
“I can’t believe I missed all the action.” Gladio griped, leaning against his sword, an honest pout on his face, blocking off Ignis with his arm-load of paper.  
  
“Maybe next time, big guy.” Prompto said, clapping him on the shoulder, subtly trying to move him out of the assistant’s way.  
  
“I didn’t even get to see King Noctis kick the daemons’ asses.”  
  
Ignis squeezed passed Gladio, shooting the taller man a glare. “Maybe the King would appreciate your assistance in organizing the Refugees, Sir Amicitia.”  
  
Gladio looked over, surprised. “Oh! Let me help you with that, Ignis.” He said, dismissing his sword.  
  
Ignis pulled the papers closer to his chest, walking briskly through the long buildings loaded with people in various states of disarray, valiantly ignoring his ostentatious, large shadow.  
  
Prompto tilted his head to the side as Iris leaned her shoulder against his. “Still want to keep the bet that your brother is going to wear him down? You’ve only got 4 months before you have to pay up.” He asked with a grin.  
  
Iris punched him in the shoulder, Prompto wincing, before an armload of pre-packaged meals were dropped into his arms. “We agreed we had till my baby was born. And he’s an Amicitia. Of *course* I’m going to bet on his stubbornness.” She nodded to the crowd of people. “I think you should be getting back to work, Mr. Head-of-External-Affairs-and-Immigration Argentum. Wouldn’t do to have the King outdo you in getting the refugees all sorted.”  
  
Prompto laughed as his eyes caught sight of Noct, dressed down to his button-up shirt and slacks, still covered in dirt and hair wildly out of control from the recent battle. It was like this that Noctis was at his best, Prompto thought, as he wandered through the crowds. Even when they had been travelling, Noct had always been at his best when they were working with money they earned (much to the horror of the council, when they found out) and would let himself be pulled out of himself when he could see the immediate impact of how he was helping.  
  
Prompto made small talk with a kind smile to the refugees as he kept an eye on his King, making the promises that they would be taken care of while in Insomnia’s walls, handing out food and directing people to the permanently set up stands of blankets and basic necessities that the King had turned the old tram station into. One of the many things that Prompto loved about his best friend, was how he simply didn’t care about what the Council thought on the status of refugees. Noct looked at people like they were equals, and was willing to put his own neck on the line to bring people as high up as he could. When movement out of the city became limited with the incoming darkness, Noct hadn’t even hesitated to propose that the last stations out of Insomnia be re-purposed into semi-permanent refugee stations. And when the council had argued about money for labour—as if *that* would stop their King—Noct had simply shown up at the station in Crownsguard’s fatigues and gotten to work himself.  
  
A commotion from the other side of the room drug him away from his thoughts, and when he saw Noctis’ head snap back from an attack, Prompto started running.  


* * *

  
Noctis blinked the stars from his eyes. He thought he had vaguely recognized the boy (*man* he reminded himself, now that he had gotten a better look) as the refugee he had noticed before the battle. He was just admiring the man’s grey eyes in the privacy of his own head, when the punch had come out of nowhere. It wasn’t uncommon for people to be agitated, either at how slow the process of accepting a group of one hundred or so people could be, or from the stress of having just avoided the battle, but Noctis thought that the man’s reaction was a bit extreme.  
  
Prompto pulled him up as the guards wrestled the man to the ground, the Crownsguard who had informed them of the situation from the citadel throwing his full body weight on top of the struggling and screaming man.  
  
“Noct, you ok?” Prompto asked, as Noctis waved away the potion being offered to him.  
  
“Yeah, I’m…”  
  
“Get off me you pathetic trash or I’ll take your eyes out myself!” The man yelled, followed by a stream of profanities and garbled bits of the Common Tongue and another language.  
  
The guard from before shouted at the man in the other language. It seemed to calm Noctis’ attacker down a bit, though he was still twitching and snarling.  
  
“He throws one hell of a right hook.” Noctis muttered as Prompto helped him up.  
  
“Ostium!” Iris’ bark had almost all motion stopping (which was probably good, as the world tilted slightly for Noctis.) “Do you know this man?”  
  
The guard, Ostium (Noctis made a note to look into him further), nodded. “Y-Yeah, he…I know ‘im.”  
  
Noctis pinched the bridge of his nose as the tilting world transformed into a full-blown headache. “He got hit with a confusion spell.” Iris said after taking one look at the man. Iris put her hand on Noctis’ shoulder. “Ostium, take your friend and his forms on the next available bus to the hospital, you’re on leave if he doesn’t have family here.” Iris instructed, already leading Noctis out of the room. “I think you’re done tonight, your Majesty.”  
  
“I’ll be fi—”  
  
“If you refuse to take a potion, you’re done for the night.”  
  
Noctis’ lips pursed as a wave of dizziness hit him, and he felt his face burn with the embarrassment of having a punch to the face take him out, *after* taking out three daemons solo.  
  
But the young man did have a *really* good punch.  
  
“Obviously the cushy life’s getting to you, Noct.” Iris quipped when Noct had himself seated in the back of the car.  
  
“Oh, shut it.” Noctis groaned as Iris sat in the driver’s seat.  
  
Prompto sniggered from the passenger’s seat. Prompto leaned around to grin at Noctis, before whistling. “Hasn’t left Insomnia’s walls in 5-some-odd-years, somehow *still* gets a shiner.” Iris laughed at Noctis’ unamused glare.  
  
“Well, at least you could say Noct can still ‘hit it off’ with the pretty boys.”  
  
“FUCK OFF!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we have a bit of Nyx to go with that Noct. Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks again to my wonderful wife, Jodine16 (who not only does all my beta stuff but also pushes all my artwork to help me get commissions lol. May post some stuff on here one day, but if anyone's interested, zayven-art.tumblr.com (art and related), zva-redink.tumblr.com (18+), and zulu-victor.tumblr.com (personal) are where you can find me. 
> 
> Note: Guillemets (« and ») stand for Galahdian

Nyx snapped awake and sat up, breathing as quietly as he could out of habit, looking around wildly. This wasn’t his little shack, and his breathing picked up momentarily. Staying completely still, he calmed himself down, taking stock of the situation. He didn’t seem to be injured anywhere other than a slight scrape on the back of his left arm, and although he wasn’t in *his* clothes, he was dressed—which was worrisome, but not an immediate issue. The t-shirt alone practically swallowed his lean frame, and dropped well past the hem of his boxers (which *were* his, thank fuck). Running his hand over his face didn’t reveal any unexplained head wounds, but also didn’t explain why he couldn’t remember how he got to where he was.

Or even *where* he was.

Movement from the other side of the closed door (the *only* door…shit) in the corner of the grey room had him tensing, and he cast around for his kukri. It was a bit harder to ignore the immediate swell of panic and frustration at not seeing it anywhere, nor anything that could be remotely used as a weapon. The bright light from under the door meant that it was unlikely to be a daemon, and Nyx moved out of the bed on light feet, twisting his weight slowly into each step to avoid making anything creak on the unfamiliar floorboards. He heard metal clanging when he got closer to the door, but without consistency or a pattern it was unlikely to be an MT. A human was going to be much easier to take down and flee from, and Nyx momentarily cast off his good wishes to the old gods for small favours. Nyx waited for the sounds to crest, before sliding the door open as quietly as possible and shuffling into the space, eyes half closed to avoid being completely blinded by the light.

His eyes landed on a knife set on the edge of a counter, and Nyx dove for it, pulling a knife and setting enough distance between himself and the other person that he knew he’d be able to use his speed to his advantage.

Only to almost drop the knife when the person jumped and turned around, and looked *damn* familiar.

“Libertus?!”

Libertus grinned, but eyed up the knife nervously. “Hey, Nyx…wanna give me the knife, buddy?” he asked, holding his hands up in a placating gesture, dish-towel hanging in a loose grip.

Nyx flipped the knife and caught it by the blade almost on reflex as he handed it over, and as soon as Libertus had the knife out of his hand, wrapped his arms around Nyx and squeezed the breath right out of him.

Nyx almost went for the knife again, taking an embarrassingly long moment to realize Libertus was giving him a *hug*.

“Gods, Nyx…I’ve thought you’ve been dead for 10 *years*…”

Nyx flinched at the quiver in Libertus’ voice. He sounded different, older, but he definitely still had a Galahdian accent. «Hey! …please tell me you're not crying!» Nyx said.

“I’m not crying.” Libertus mumbled, though his sniff belied him, and Nyx awkwardly pat him on the back, before Libertus gave him another suffocating squeeze and let him go. Nyx glanced away when he noticed Libertus’ eyes and nose were red and runny.

“I…uh…” «I…missed you too, big guy.» Nyx muttered, shooting him a small grin.

“Me too, man, me too. Hey, I-I got breaky on the go. Make yourself at home, it’ll be done in a moment.”

Nyx nodded, pulling away, before awkwardly sitting himself on the edge of the threadbare couch. Nyx closed his eyes and spent a moment enjoying the quiet sounds of Libertus moving around the kitchenette and getting himself back together, the sound of a small radio playing soft Galadian-pop music making Nyx smile.

After a few moments, the creak of a floorboard further from the kitchen had him opening his eyes, and Libertus handed him a plate and utensils. “C’mon, Nyx, *relax*. You lookin’ like you’re gunna bolt is setting *me* on edge.” Nyx tried to relax, really he did, but every time he leaned back it felt like the couch cushions were sucking him in and the immediate panic of being trapped set in.

It was definitely safer for him to just perch on the edge of the couch.

“How the hell did you survive Galahd?” Libertus asked between bites, before shaking his head. “Scratch that…where the hell have you *been*?”

Nyx shrugged, fiddling with his plate after pretty much inhaling his food. «Galahd, actually. Holed up in the woods, then a group picked me up a month back. Figured I’d chance it. We were trying for Lestallum when we got side tracked.» Nyx jolted like he had been electrocuted, tension running through his limbs in excitement. «We made it to Insomnia!» he had just enough mind to put his plate down on the coffee table before running to the only window and throwing the curtains open wide. the view that greeted him wasn’t grand by any means, but the stacks of apartments lined with *bright* lights was something he never even *dreamed* of before, and he looked down, forehead bumping the glass lightly as he breathed out in wonder, jolting in surprise when his breath fogged the glass. He tilted his head up, looking at the giant billboard high up above them, mouth dropping open when the billboard scrolled from an advertisement of some sort, to a bright baby blue with a yellow spot in the middle, proudly advertising the time as 11:45 am despite the general black of the sky.

A shimmer caught his eye and he squinted past the light pollution (and he never thought there could ever be such a *thing* as light pollution) and laughed when he saw it again. «Is that the Wall?! Oh, man, look at *that*…» Nyx trailed off. He was immediately aware when Libertus stepped into his space and put a hand on his shoulder, and he tried to ignore the tension running through him…to keep admiring the sight…

Nyx shrugged Libertus’ hand off, gave him an apologetic head tilt. «Sorry, got excited there.»

Libertus looked at him strangely, but didn’t seem too offended by the motion, smiling instead. “Yeah, It’s not much of a sight from here, though. You should see the Citadel.” He nodded to a stack of papers on the table. “Hate to make you work, but that garbage there needs to be filled out. Normally they’d do all that at the gate for ya, but, well…you know.”

Nyx stared at Libertus, confused.

Libertus blinked at him, before laughing. “Oh, so you *don’t* remember.” He shook his head. “The doc’s said you *might* be a little bit fuzzy if we let the confusion spell wear off naturally.” He said, almost to himself, directing Nyx to sit in front of the pile of papers.

«I was hit with a confusion spell?» Nyx asked, trying to piece together when *that* had happened.

Libertus wandered back to the kitchen, pulling a thermos out of the cupboard and filling it with coffee. “What’s the last thing you remember?” The grin pulling at the corner of his mouth was a bit concerning, like he was trying to hold it back (or like he was *teasing*, but it had been so long since Nyx had been *teased* that he honestly wasn’t sure). Nyx ignored it in favour of racking his brain.

«We were being chased by daemons…» Nyx began, though he was sure he hadn’t been hit with anything on the way *to* Insomnia. «They wouldn’t open the gate. I had my knife, in case I needed to fight.» Nyx’s eyes lit up. «Was that the King? Oh man! He jumped into battle like the hero out of Selena’s stories! There were sparks, and all those magic swords…»

Libertus was still grinning. “’S called the ‘Armiger’.”

“Ar-mi-ger.” Nyx sounded out, before Libertus made a ‘continue’ motion. «Right! So the King is fighting *two* Necromancers and a Red Giant—by *himself*—and another daemon with a thousand eyes pops up…oh.» Nyx made a face. «It hit me with a beam.»

Libertus snickered. “Yeah, and one of the Senior Crownsguard killed it from the top of the gate with one shot. What else do you remember?”

Nyx thought hard, rubbing his chin and realizing he hadn’t shaved in a while, before shrugging «You brought me here?»

Libertus’ grin was absolutely shit-eating, and Nyx was definitely concerned. “You sure? You don’t remember attacking anyone.”

Nyx went pale when he suddenly remembered looking up when he was shuffled into a line with papers put in front of him, and seeing the crimson eyes of a Magiteck Trooper. «Shit. Who’d I punch?» he groaned, sliding down in his seat.

“The King of Lucis.”

Nyx stares at Libertus, trying to decipher if he’s having his leg pulled or not, before he slowly thumps his head down on the table. «Fuck!»

Libertus laughs and pats him on the back, picking up a bag of food on the table. “I gotta go in to work, but I’ll leave you to get that paperwork done. Don’t wallow in misery too long, it’s bad for your health!”

Nyx left his head resting on the table long after Libertus’ departure, before deciding he had wallowed in his mortification long enough. Libertus hadn’t threatened to hand him in, and he was wearing a *Crownsguard* uniform, so obviously Nyx wasn’t in too much shit. He looked down at the papers in front of him.

Only to realize he could only read and understand every third or fourth word on the page.

Nyx swore, getting up and pacing around, before deciding that he couldn’t do anything until Libertus got back. Pacing wasn’t doing anything more then making him *anxious*, so he went back to the room he had woke up in and pulled on some of Libertus’ clothes, hoping the other man wouldn’t mind. He was thankful Libertus used web-belts, so he could actually cinch the large cargo shorts on. It took a few moments of digging around to figure out that Libertus had stashed Nyx’s kukri under the sink in the kitchen, and he ran his fingers over the blade lovingly, checking for damage, before tying the sheathe to the belt at the small of his back. It was almost embarrassing how much Libertus’ sleeveless hoodie swallowed his frame, but Nyx counted his blessings that it worked better than his jean-jacket to hide the shape of his knife.

With that, Nyx left, closing the door tightly behind him. His gut instinct was to set a trap at the door, and it took a few moments of rocking on the balls of his feet just outside the front door, before he could convince himself that inside the *Wall* MTs, daemons, and critters weren’t a problem, and that there *was* an actual police force.

Within a few hours, he found himself outside of the refugee district. He was in awe people watching—just seeing people (probably more people than he had seen in his entire *life*) go about their daily business was something he had missed seeing. Shops that had *actual* staff, the smells of food cooked in stalls…the streets were *packed* with people.

Unfortunately, people made a lot of *noise*.

At first, it was easy to ignore. Actually, it was something to be appreciated. It didn’t take long, however, for him to get confused in the childrenyellingcartsrattlinghornsoundofguitardoorslamming—some one yelled as he ran by them, and he flinched, wanting to cover his ears but not wanting to advertise a weak point…

He passed by a few blocks, slowing down into a walk as the noise died down to the more manageable level of peoplewalkingtalkinglaughing—before seeing a park that actually had *green* still in it. More importantly, it had *trees* (although, upon closer inspection, the grass was fake, as were the trees). He found himself deep further down on the path through the fake woods, and was eyeballing a tree to jump into and hide for a moment, before he noticed the rather serious boy staring him down.

“Uh…”

The staring was starting to make his hackles rise, and his hand subtly shifted to the knife he was carrying in his belt. And the kid kept *looking* at him, in a way that had all of his instincts screaming at the ‘kill-or-be-killed’ spectrum

“Cor!”

Nyx jumped, almost pulling the knife, only to see a blond man run up to the kid.

“Sorry about him, he’s a little intense,” The man said, with a bright sunshine grin.

Though his eyes on where Nyx was palming his knife spoke of days beyond Insomnia’s wall.

Nyx removed his hand, watching the man only slightly relax. Things protecting their young tended to be vicious.

Though… “Is he…yours?” Nyx asked, stumbling over forming the Common Tongue. His little shack had a small radio that he would listen to news from Tenebrae and Carticana on, but actually trying to *speak* it had proven to be troublesome since he left his little slice of Galahd the scant weeks prior.

The man laughed, “Yeah, we don’t look much alike, I hear that a lot.” The man moved beside his child, keeping between Nyx and the boy, before holding out his hand. “Prompto. Prompto Argentum.”

Nyx eyed his hand, letting go of his knife to shake his hand. “Uh…Nyx Ulric.”

Prompto beamed and it was like getting hit with a concentrated piece of sunlight. He didn’t look strangely at the fact that Nyx let go of the handshake relatively fast. “Well Nyx, would you like to grab something to eat? There’s a food cart that has the best Spicy Daggerquill.”

Nyx shifted. “I don’t…have money?”

Prompto shrugged, “My treat, you must have just come in with the last large group of refugees, right?”

Nyx flushed. “That obvious, huh?”

Prompto laughed, leading Nyx further down the path where Nyx could see the park ran into the back of a group of buildings and between two of them, he could see a relatively calm street. “Only cause you’re carrying.” Prompto said, nodding in the direction of Nyx’s kukri. “Just be careful with that. You can have it in your place of residence in a lock-box, but to carry it you either need approval by the head of the Crownsguard or you need a Travel Permit.”

“Travel Permit?”

Prompto shrugs, leading him towards a food cart.

“A Permit says you’re going out side of Insomnia’s walls.” The boy, Cor, said with a perfect expression, giving Nyx the stink-eye. “It has to say what days you’re leaving and your expected return so the Crownsguard knows that you’re not planning an attack.”

Nyx shot Cor a look. “Planning…I’m not planning on attacking *anybody*.”

“All terrorists would plead innocent.”

“Cor!” Prompto sputtered. “Wow, that was rude. You should apologize!”

Cor eyed up Nyx, before looking at Prompto. “If I’m going to be the Shield of the Prince I need to be always vigilant.”

Prompto sighed, looking up to the sky and mouthing what Nyx assumed was a request for patience (at least, that’s what *his* mother had always done). Prompto pulled out a handful of credits, handing them to Cor. “Go get us something to drink, please.” Cor side-eyed Nyx a moment longer, before heading in the opposite direction of the food cart to a vending machine with a small line-up. “I am *so* sorry about him.” Prompto said, after a moment of Nyx and Cor glaring at each other from across the street. “He’s just angry I won’t let him apply to the Crownsguard.”

Nyx gave one more moment to glare at Cor before facing Prompto again. “He’s not…*wrong*.” Nyx offered with a shrug. “But he seems young for the Crownsguard.”

“The King has been trying to move the age to join the military branch of the  Crownsguard from 16 to 19, but the council has been fighting him on it.”

“You seem to know a lot about all these policies.”

Prompto laughed. “Hey, I’m an immigrant, those ones I always *had* to know. The Crownsguard ones I’ve only learned since Cor started on his personal mission to be the first Shield not born to the Amicitia bloodline. I even had to scare off some ill-reputed tattoo artists when he tried to get the Amicitia tattoo when he was *eight*.”

Nyx snorted. “You can scare people off?” Nyx’s expression morphed as he listened to the words in his head. “Oh! *Shit*, that came out…rude…”

Prompto laughed and gave him a cheeky wink. Nyx relaxed quite a bit, glad to have not offended the other man.

————

Nyx found himself hanging out with Prompto a lot over the next couple of months, almost more than Libertus. Libertus doesn’t seem to offended, even asked after Nyx’s new ‘Friend’ (with a capital F) quite a bit.

“Do you even know what this Prom guy does?”

«You know it’s rude to ask that.»

“Rude in Galahd, but not rude in Lucis.” Libertus reminded him, but Nyx still can’t bring himself to. Libertus has been slowly making headway with trying to teach Nyx how to at least interact with more Lucians, but Nyx had a hard time giving up his Galahdian sensibilities.

Though, he managed to not carry his knife around much, even if he doesn’t like it.

He and Prompto had a usual diner that they’d meet up at. It’s outside of the refugee district, so Nyx still got strange looks for his braids and beads, for the trinkets he wore around his neck and his wrists, but it’s quiet without being too quiet. Even on the days when Cor is there to glare daggers at Nyx (though they are starting to get more comfortable around each other, Cor doesn’t seem to have Prompto’s patience to deal with Nyx’s Galahdian-isms, and calls him out on it quite frequently just to get a reaction out of Nyx), it’s peaceful, and it’s a nice routine. Then, the little shit calls him out on never paying for coffee (because he doesn’t *actually* like freeloading and figures a coffee can’t cost much, but not having anything seems to make Prompto twitchy), and Nyx was forced to admit that he hasn’t been seeing any of the refugee allowance, because he hasn’t filled out his papers yet.

The very next day Prompto sat down across from Nyx with an absolutely horrifying stack of papers.

“The refugee intake papers are also part of the immigration paperwork.” Prompto informed him, getting them both a coffee. “But if you fill out the immigration papers, your profile will be more rounded if you decide to go with the full she-bang.”

“…There’s a difference?”

Prompto beamed his sunlight smile, ordering a coffee for them. “Immigration allows you to become a Lucian citizen. You get *way* more job opportunities, education opportunities, and you can buy property here and in any of the towns, like Lestallum or Galdin, for example.”

Nyx stared at Prompto as he pushed the stack towards Nyx and handed him a pen. “People are *buying* property still?”

Prompto laughed. “Yeah, the Darkness has kind of turned that to shit out in the middle of no-where, but if you *wanted* to, you could make a Hunter’s halfway house if you can get a generator up and running, and immigration status allows you to buy power from Lestallum and Insomnia, though *that* costs an arm and a leg.”

Nyx stared at Prompto, wide eyed. “I didn’t see *anything* like that when we came here.”

Prompto shrugged. “You came from Galahd—north, right? It’s easier and more cost efficient south of Hammerhead where there were already power lines that could support the load for Galdin Quay, and anywhere between Lestallum and Cauthess. There were talks about running a line from Insomnia to Lestallum as power-share deal, but last I checked no one even likes *travelling* past Hammerhead let alone do a few months of work out there with the daemons, and paying hunters would up the cost.”

Nyx thought about that, going back out into the wilderness armed with his kukri and his skill, to help get power lines between Lestallum and Insomnia. They could bring in more light, scare off the daemons. People could begin re-building again. He found he didn’t mind the thought, had never been afraid of the dark and the daemons so much as *cautious*. “Is that a kind of job a refugee could get, or would you need to be an immigrant.”

Prompto stared at him before laughing. “You can be a refugee to do that, *if* they ever give the project the go-ahead, but the immigration papers have more questions for your skills and stuff, so you’ll probably get mailed more job options.”

Nyx sighed and looked down at what he’s managed to fill out on the first page. Which is…

Nyx bites his tongue and squares his shoulders. “I…can’t read this.” He admitted quietly.

Prompto grinned, not seeming surprised in the slightest. “That’s what you have me here for, buddy. I already put my name and contact info down on the last page in the section for references and who helped you fill it out.”

“I *like* reading.” Nyx says quickly—defensively—glaring at the pile. “I even have a ton of books!” He flinched. “…Had…*Had* a ton of books.”

Prompto sighed. “Yes, but what *language* were they in, Nyx?”

Nyx shuffled slightly. “Galahdian.”

Prompto smiled warmly at him. “It happens more often than you think, buddy. The areas lost earlier in the war were most affected. People who were kids at the time suddenly didn’t have teachers, and *speaking* a language is a lot easier then *reading* it.” He cracked his knuckles before leaning forward and flipping through the pages. “Now, lets get this out of the way.”

After they made decent headway, and had almost everything filled out with the exception of the ‘skill-set for job opportunities’ list (which, Prompto assured him, Libertus would be able to easily help him with), Nyx sat back with a sigh. “You’re…good at this.”

Prompto laughed. “Thanks. I had a bit of a steep learning curve myself. And raising Cor helped.”

Nyx smiled. “Where is the daemon, anyway?”

Prompto rolled his eyes “He’s intense, but he’s not *that* bad.”

Nyx looked Prompto dead in the eye. “He looks like he wants to try and bite me every time I see him.”

Prompto just waved him off. “We got him over his biting phase three years ago, you’re fine.” Prompto stretched, sighing when his back popped. “He’s out with a friend of mine, at the moment.” Prompto smiled. “Honestly, you should see Cor with Reggie. I’m sure that’d change your opinion on him.”

“Reggie?”

“My best friend’s son. Cor is super great with him, despite their age gap. It took a while for Cor to understand that a baby doesn’t learn as fast as he does, but he’s hell bent on passing down all the wisdom of a 10-year old.”

Nyx looked at him. “He’s *10*?”

Prompto grinned at him. “Yeah. Why, how old did you think he was?”

Nyx made a face, thinking back to lines cut on a wooden post and days marked first on paper, then in overlapping dyes on a wall. “I dunno. I think he’s the same height as me when I was 15?”

Prompto stared at him, something weird shuffling his expression, before he wrapped his arms around Nyx, causing the other man to yelp at the unexpected motion. A few other patrons shot them a look, and Nyx awkwardly pat Prompto on the back the same way he did for Libertus.

“Gods, Nyx I just want to cuddle the shit out of you!”

Nyx flinched. “Uh…please don’t.”

Prompto pulled back with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, should have given you warning, or something.” Prompto flagged down a waitress, ordering some food. When it arrived, he pushed it all in front of Nyx with a grin.

Nyx flushed. “Prompto, you don’t *have* to…”

“Nyx, you’re tiny because your *malnourished*. How old are you anyway?”

Nyx shrugged. “22…I think.”

Prompto stared at him a moment, before barking out a laugh. “Here I thought you were like…19 or something. Still makes me feel old. Now, eat the damn food.”

If there was one thing Nyx had learned beyond the wall: never say no when food is put in front of you.

———

Nyx shifted restlessly from where he was standing in a polished marble hallway. He had been surprised when not even a week after he had handed in his paperwork Prompto had informed him that he had an offer for an interview with the Crownsgard. Mostly boring stuff, Prompto had assured him. If it went well he had Wall Duty watching for daemon’s or helping sort out the Hunters that came into town, but if he stayed for a year as a cadet, he’d be able to get in with either the military branch or the police branch.

When he had told Libertus, his friend had stared at him like he had two heads, before bursting into a round of shouting questions at him. It took Nyx a moment to sooth the other man into something even remotely calm to be able to understand half the questions.

“But seriously? How the hell did *you* get an interview with Sir Amicitia?”

Nyx gave him a sour look «What are you implying?»

Libertus held up his hands. “Not that I don’t think you’d do a good job!” He hurriedly amended. “But like, refugees can’t get into the guard. I had to work as a dishwasher for a *year* to be able to have enough hours to apply for immigration status. Took another year before I even *heard* from the guard.” Libertus narrowed his eyes. “I think this ‘friend’ of yours might be pulling your leg.”

Nyx stood straighter from where he had been leaning against the counter. «Prom has no reason to do that.» He considered his options for a moment. «Besides, I was actually thinking about doing something…*outside* the wall.»

Libertus stared at him. “Outside the wall. Why the hell would you want to do that? Nyx…you just *got* here.”

Nyx sighed tightly at the kicked puppy look on his friends face. «Yeah, but it’s too…» he waved his hands, having trouble even finding the words in galahdian. «I’ve spent too long out there.» He finally said. «I’m going crazy here, to be honest. This sitting around doing nothing…»

Libertus smiled softly with a sigh. “Yeah, you never could sit still. Always had to be the damned *hero* of the day.” Libertus clapped him on the shoulder. “So…when is your interview, we need to find *something* for you to wear.”

«…Tomorrow.»

“WHAT?”

Nyx was interrupted from his memory by the strange repetitive sound of slide-thump, slide-thump. He glanced over in the direction of the noise as it turned into a quick soft patter, a tiny child with a mop of black hair coming around the corner. He and the child stared each-other down, before a loud bang from above them had the child running over to Nyx, grabbing onto Nyx for all he was worth.

“Uh…Hi?” Nyx said, looking around for his caretakers

The child started trying to climb up Nyx’s pants, who was swiftly reminded that he was wearing Libertus’ hand-me-down jeans which were several sizes too large to begin with. Opposed to having a tiny toddler pants him in the middle of the citadel, Nyx picked the child up, holding him awkwardly in front of him like he would a baby coeurl, before two tiny hands reached out to pat his cheeks like he was some kind of pet.

The sound of shoes squeaking on stairs had him turning back around in the direction the child had come from, before a gorgeous man came skidding around the corner, black shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. “REGIS LUCIS CAELUM, you are going to have a bath if it kills…oh.”

Nyx felt his face heat up, and he mentally kicked himself for being too busy staring at the slice of collar bone and chest from beneath the man’s unbuttoned collar to notice he was staring at the rumpled appearance of the King of Lucis

The child had somehow managed to wiggle close enough to Nyx’s chest and grab a handful of hair and yank hard while simultaneously taking the largest breath Nyx has ever heard anyone take before yelling directly in his ear.

“NOOOOOOOO!”

Nyx flinched and almost dropped the child, remind himself last second that it would hurt him *probably* more than it would hurt the child. Especially with the threat of the armiger.

The king’s expression became sheepish, as he stepped into Nyx’s space to get his hands around the child’s to keep them from pulling even more harshly on Nyx’s hair. “I am *so* sorry…” The King said with a wince, carefully untangling pudgy fingers from Nyx’s hair. “He’s a bit of an escape artist.” the King shifted closer to make sure that the squirming child hadn’t wrapped a hand around any of Nyx’s beads, and Nyx became hyper aware of the King’s breathing. And his scent. Nyx was overcome with the urge to take a deep breath, but contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t some kind of animal. The urge didn’t lessen.

When the child had been sufficiently pulled away and the King took a step back, looking Nyx over. Nyx hoped to fuck that he didn’t remember Nyx punching him in the face.

“So…” The king shifted the child around until he could try and squirm against his father’s shoulder. “What brings you to the Citadel?”

Nyx shifted, nodding in the direction of the door he had been told to wait at for Sir Amicitia. “Uh, Crownsguard Interview.” The king blinked at him, and Nyx hurriedly tacked on “Your Majesty.”

The King didn’t seem to phase by the delay in deference, instead glancing at the door, eyes narrowing at the title boldly proclaimed on the placard on the door. “I thought you came in with the last batch of refugees? That’s a rather fast turn around time.”

Nyx felt himself pale a touch. “You…noticed me?” Nyx asked dumbly.

The King looked back at him, “It was very hard not to,” before wincing, “I mean, it was a hell of a first impression…”  
Nyx shifted, before spitting out. “Look, I’m *really* sorry about punching you in the face! Your Majesty! I mean, I didn’t mean to hit you…”

“…You can hit on me any time…”

“What?”

Noct coughed loudly. “I mean, you have great arms…arm. You have a great punch…” The baby seemed to squirm in his arms while simultaneously trying to poke Noct in the nose. “If you…if you get in…we may be able to spar…?”

A hand on both their shoulders made them both jump. “Sorry to *interrupt* your Majesty.” Nyx was momentarily stunned by the tall woman beside them, and her casual grip on the King’s shoulder, before she turned her focus on Nyx. Nyx had to resist the urge to shiver, as the look the woman was giving him was down right dangerous. “You must be Nyx Ulric. I’m Sir Iris Amicitia, Step into my office, please.” She gave the king a bow of the head before opening the door for Nyx. Nyx paused briefly, before giving the King a bow and retreating into the office.

He isn’t sure if he imagined it or not, but he’d bet everything in his little shack in Galahd that he heard the king mutter, “Fuck me,” before the door was firmly closed between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nyx’s and Libertus’ conversation structure is something I happen to see a lot of from working in very multi-cultural environments, especially among my East Indian and Non-English European friends, where one of them will just kind of casually slip into their native language (usually the guy or girl just off the boat) and the other one will still respond in English, especially if the second person grew up in a heavily bi-lingual setting.
> 
> The daemon of a thousand eyes is a Hecteyes if you need a visual reference—not normally seen in that area of Lucis, and the reason why Nyx doesn’t actually know what it is or what it does right off the bat like he does with Red Giants and Necromancers, but weird shit sometimes happens.
> 
> On a personal note: I love and hate my hyper-focus in equal measures. One one hand, I have 21K words of raw writing for this beast. On the other hand, my insomnia, apparently, hit the ground running, my wrist is actually starting to hurt (from typing you pervs), and I’m 90% sure I had a blood sugar crash without noticing it, cause I have stuff written that I don’t actually remember writing. So I did have to completely break off my hyper-focus for a while, but I may polish up what I have for this story for a batch post.


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